


For All the World to See

by ThatgirlnamedEleanor



Category: A Very Potter Musical
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M, basically a high school au but at hogwarts, happy ending though of course, warnings for homophobia and homophobic bullying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:35:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatgirlnamedEleanor/pseuds/ThatgirlnamedEleanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quirinus Quirrell is the lone gay student in his whole year at Hogwarts, and so is bullied by practically everyone. Two weeks before Christmas in their seventh year, Voldemort's friends (who also happen to be Quirrell's bullies) dare Voldemort to ask Quirrell to the Yule Ball as a joke. What happens next will lead Voldemort to discover what his "Undecided" Scarf of Sexual Preference Sorting really means, and will turn all of their worlds upside down... Basically an AVPM Quirrelmort High School au, but at Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baubles and Bullies

It was exactly two weeks before Christmas, and the atmosphere at Hogwarts had altered from the general school time feeling of monotony and boredom to become shot through with tense excitement and impatience. Every available surface was covered in glittering christmas ornaments, and the usual 12 trees stood sparkling in the Great Hall. First years whispered excitedly about what they were hoping to receive as presents from friends and family members, and every morning, the sunrise shone on thick layers of shimmering snow, turning the grounds into a landscape of frozen glitter. For the students in fourth year and above, however, all of these joys put together could not make them feel as excited as they were about one particular event: the Yule Ball.

The Yule Ball had been all most of the 4th, 5th, 6th, and 7th year girls could talk about for months. Everything was discussed and pre-planned months in advance, even down to things like what colour eyeliner each girl would be wearing on the night. Voldemort, now a 7th year, found it all ridiculously boring. He wasn’t planning on attending, despite knowing that Bellatrix would probably sulk for days once she found out. If she didn’t like it, that was her problem, not his. She could go with Lucius instead. They’d certainly seemed to be getting along well recently, Voldemort thought as he watched them from a distance and tried not to feel guilty about what the pair were about to do.

They were both standing with their backs to the wall, right next to the door to the Charms classroom, where Voldemort knew (because Bellatrix and Lucius wouldn’t stop talking about it at breakfast that morning) the 7th year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were currently having a NEWT Charms lesson, which was due to finish in just under 5 minutes. For the last time, Voldemort tried to convince them to reconsider.

“Guys, is this really necessary? Don’t you have anything better to do with your free period?”

Bellatrix smiled that wicked smile of hers, the one that only appeared when she was being particularly nasty. “Oh, it’s absolutely necessary Voldemort! You should really join us some time, it’s so fun!”

“It’s not, it’s…” Unkind, horrible, awful… “really fucking boring. It’s beneath you. It makes you look… stupid.”

Lucius rolled his eyes in his typical over-dramatic way. “Relax, Voldemort! It’s just a bit of fun! Or did you forget that fun exists?”

Voldemort sighed deeply. Of course hadn't forgotten fun! It was just that his idea of fun was completely different from theirs. He liked reading about snakes, and tap-dancing, and watching Zefron interviews on FlooTube. He didn’t like… this. Why was that so hard for Bellatrix and Lucius to understand?

Bellatrix and Lucius almost jumped with glee as the Charms classroom door flew open with a bang and students began to pour out. First came the Hufflepuffs in a gentle, softly-spoken cloud of yellow, and then came the Ravenclaws, all of them clothed in midnight, walking slowly but with purpose and loudly discussing some experimental charm theory. Well, all except one.

The last Ravenclaw to emerge from Charms was not like the others. He walked quickly (any quicker and it would have been a run) and his eyes darted nervously from place to place. Voldemort winced. The poor guy looked terrified. Voldemort felt a surge of pity for him, but quickly covered it up with a scowl. He was the Dark Lord after all; it was pointless for him to feel anything other than pure hatred for muggles and mudbloods. He didn't want to lose his position as the most feared in the school after all. No, he had to stop being so hufflepuffish about some things, or Bellatrix and Lucius might notice. More villain, less hero. Yeah, that was the way to go.

The last Ravenclaw, satisfied his darting eyes had successfully covered every inch of the corridor outside the Charms classroom, hesitantly started to walk away. Unfortunately, he hadn’t checked behind the door.

“Hey! Queer-inus!” Lucius’s voice was jeering and cruel as he and Bellatrix emerged from behind the door.

At his words, the poor guy stopped walking and sighed sadly, and for a moment it almost seemed as though he was going to cry. Voldemort’s breath caught in his throat, and he abruptly forgot everything he’d just told himself about not being hufflepuffish. In that moment, he hated Lucius more than anyone.

“So, who’re you going to the Yule Ball with, Queer-inus?” Lucius had begun laughing, a cold, harsh laugh devoid of any actual mirth, and so now it was time for Bellatrix to take over. “Oh wait… no one! Cause guess what, Queer-inus? You’re the only gay freak in the whole school! No-one will EVER invite you to the Yule Ball, and no one will ever love you!”

At Bellatrix’s last sentence, the poor guy actually began crying. As he sprinted away from the evil pair (who were now both laughing uncontrollably and high-fiving, Voldemort noted with disgust), Voldemort had a curious urge to follow him… But he couldn't do that. He’d change in an instant from the Dark Lord, the most feared guy in the school, the king of Slytherin house and the most evil wizard ever known, to the loser guy who helped Queer-inus Quirrell, the sad loner gay boy everyone in 7th year avoided. His reputation would take such a blow that Voldemort thought it wouldn't be possible to ever fix it. No. He didn't care about Quirinus… no, QUEER-inus. He was just some loser Ravenclaw whom his friends (and most of 7th year) loved to bully. He didn't mind if his friends called the stupid boy names. He deserved it. He was gay, and that made him a freak. That was just the way things were.

Voldemort ignored the part of him that hated himself and everyone else for what he’d just thought.

 

* * *

 

Quirrell knew better than most that crying was, above all, bloody inconvenient, especially when you were trying to run away. Running with his eyes blurry and swollen with tears was a skill he’d had perfected since third year. It had come in useful many many times, particularly this year, as this year the level of bullying had spiked.

He had always been bullied, right from the beginning, right from the moment when the Scarf of Sexual Preference had cheerfully called out “Homosexual!” for everyone to hear. Of course, it hadn’t been outright bullying then, just… looks. Whispers. That horrible feeling that he was somehow less than the rest of his peers, that feeling that had never really gone away. Fellow first years that he’d met on the train earlier, whom he’d thought might be potential friends, were suddenly treating him as though he was some sort of… other species. And he supposed he was, really; all of the other new first years had been completely and utterly heterosexual (well, apart from that one guy who’d got ‘undecided’- but no-one would ever dare bully him. He was a Slytherin. And terrifying). He’d almost gotten used to the constant bullying that had peppered all of his school life with heartbreak and hopelessness, and resulted in his current friendless state… until this year, when the two Slytherins Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy had decided, for whatever particular reason, to dedicate their NEWT year to making his life even more of a misery than it already was.

He wasn’t sad, Quirrell told himself firmly. He wasn’t. The tears dripping like minute waterfalls from his eyes were nothing more than an inconvenience. He forced himself to see past the tear-induced blur currently covering his vision, and managed to get back to the Ravenclaw common room with relative ease. Quickly, he raced up the stairs towards the boy’s dormitories, turning left rather than right like all the other boys did once he got to the top (after the Sorting he’d been assigned his own private room, rather than a place in a dorm). His room was tiny, but it was the one place he felt safe. He could be exactly who he was in this room, and no-one could judge or bully him for it. It was wonderful.

Once inside, Quirrell quickly locked the door with a wordless Colloportus, and then lay down on his bed. He didn't know why he was getting so upset over something so trivial. Why should the words of stupid Slytherins matter to him? He only had to be with them for the rest of this year an then he was free. He could… he could travel the world! He could find people who would accept him for who he was, and he could forget about Bellatrix and Lucius.Their opinions didn't affect him, right? R-right?

It was no use! Inspirational pep-talks had never really worked on him. Deep down, he knew they were nothing but brainless, cowardly bullies… but that didn't stop their words hurting. As his tears began to stain his Ravenclaw-blue bedsheets a deep black, he thought about what they’d said. He knew it was very unlikely that he’d get a date to the Yule Ball, but to hear Bellatrix spell it out like that was… not okay. It was stupid- he wasn’t even particularly keen to go to the Yule Ball, having never learned to dance properly… it was just… it was sort of a rite of passage. His parents had gone to the Yule Ball together, back when they were at Hogwarts.

But that didn't matter. His parents were both nice and straight, so of course they'd gotten dates. Quirrell knew that there were no other gay guys in his year, no one else who'd even got sorted as anything other than heterosexual, for that matter… well, apart from that Slytherin guy who’d got sorted as undecided of course, but that didn't help him. He was the evil Dark Lord, feared throughout the entire school, and he was a friend of Bellatrix and Lucius’s to boot (though he’d never actually bullied Quirrell personally). That wouldn't exactly work out.

He’d just have to accept that he wouldn't be going to the Ball. He could deal with that. He could catch up on homework or something instead. It would all be fine. Everything would be fine.

As Quirrell lay there and cried, he almost believed his own words.


	2. The Dare

Bellatrix and Lucius had still been cackling over their torment of Quirrell long after the event- they had continued laughing through their last lesson of the day, right through dinner that evening and were now still laughing as they made their way, with Voldemort striding far ahead, to the Slytherin Common Room. It was ridiculously annoying (more so than even the ridiculous bunches of mistletoe floating throughout the school corridors, and the green and sliver tinsel wreath on the door to the Slytherin Common Room- certainly not put there by actual Slytherins). Voldemort was seriously contemplating a silencing charm just to shut them up.

They entered the common room, Bellatrix pausing her relentless laughter to call out the password with an excess of triumph. Usually, when entering the common room, Voldemort would make the most of the green ambiance to make himself look even more menacing (it didn't hurt to occasionally remind everyone who he was) but tonight he just couldn't be bothered. He was tired, unhappy and pissed off at his friends. He didn't even stop to compare Slytherin’s tasteful Christmas decor (artfully draped shimmering silver fabrics, fake snow falling from the ceiling and disappearing before it actually touched anything, and in the corner of the room, an impressive and elegant green tree covered in sparkling silver ice) with the gaudiness of the rest of the castle. He quickly flounced through the room, past all of the the other Slytherins that sat scattered around the common room, lounging on embroidered green armchairs and sofas, his robes billowing behind him like tangible darkness.

Bellatrix quickly noticed that he didn't intend to sit with them a while before going to bed, and blissfully stopped laughing… only to start yelling at him moment later.

“My lord! My lord, won’t you sit with us?” She ran up behind him and grabbed his wrist. He briefly considered shaking her off, but decided not to, mainly because at this point he really couldn’t be bothered.

“Fine.” He hissed.

 

* * *

 

Voldemort had hoped that his two friends might decide to talk about something at least vaguely interesting, but it seemed that they unfortunately only intended to talk about how they next planned to torment Quirrell.

“Ooh, Louie, we could steal his bag!”

“Or his wand!”

“Or we could hex him with that new curse I’ve been developing!”

Voldemort knew he should have probably been enjoying this as much as his two friends (he was the Dark Lord after all) but he somehow just… couldn't find it in him. That horrible moment when the poor guy had finally broken, and actually started crying… it had been horrific. Voldemort really didn’t see what everyone had against him… no. He was gay. Being gay was weird. At least, that’s what everyone said…

Suddenly, Bellatrix’s eyes began to widen and she grinned with glee, her face instantly taking on the smug look of someone who has just had what they consider to be a brilliant idea. Voldemort suddenly felt anxious.

“I… have just had… the BEST IDEA EVER!” she screeched, causing several Slytherin students to look over at their little trio in confusion. Voldemort began to feel a little sick.

“This is what we should do…” she spoke reverently, as if she had just uncovered a secret section of Wizard God’s Bible and was reading it aloud to them. “Lucius- you should ask Queer-inus to the Yule Ball!”

Lucius looked less than impressed. “And what would that achieve?”

Bellatrix sighed deeply, in a way that indicated that she felt Lucius was being an idiot, and leaned forward in her chair. “Don’t you see? It’s perfect! Especially after what we said today… If you ask him, and you act like you genuinely care about Queer-inus and all that shit.. make him care about you too, make him feel normal and special and stuff… and then you tell him it was all a joke. Build all his hopes up and then smash them in one fell swoop.”

Lucius looked at her like she was Wizard Jesus risen from the dead, and Voldemort gaped in horror. They couldn’t. They just couldn’t! That was too far. Way, WAY too far. For a moment he thought about how Quirrell’s face would look when it was revealed it was all a joke… and he shuddered. No! He wouldn’t let them!

“Hey, Trixie…” Voldemort desperately tried to keep the revulsion out of his voice. “Is that… really necessary? Haven't you tormented the poor guy enough?”

Lucius looked over at him. “What are you talking about, my lord? Bella is a genius!” His eyes narrowed. “Wait… surely you don’t… CARE about the little freak, do you?”

“No, of course not! I just… don’t see what the point is! I mean, to make it work you’d have to spend extra time with Qui- with HIM. Why on earth would you want to do that? And…” Voldemort struggled to find an explanation for his aversion to the plan that wouldn't raise suspicion, that wouldn't make anyone suspect that he was anything other than the Dark Lord everyone thought he was. He was the Dark Lord, of course. That wasn't even in question. He just didn’t want to risk anything weakening his reputation. “And after what you said earlier, and after you’ve bullied the guy for months… surely he’ll think it’s a bit suspicious if you just ask him to the Yule Ball out of nowhere.”

Finally, Bellatrix and Lucius seemed to reconsider. Voldemort felt a wave of relief flood through him as they both acknowledged the faults in the plan and sunk back into their chairs. A few moments of silence followed, until…

“Wait! I’ve got it!” At Bellatrix’s words, Voldemort felt his heart sink. What on earth would she suggest now? “Voldemort… you ask him!”

That sick feeling was back again. “… What?”

“You ask Queer-inus to the Yule Ball! It’ll be brilliant! You’re a great actor-“

“What about me? I’m a great actor too-“

“Shut up Lucius!”

“But-“

“Shut UP! And you've never bullied Queer-inus, Voldemort, so that won’t be a problem!”

Voldemort felt awful. What could he do? If he didn’t agree, his only friends might leave him. If he did, he’d be joining in with the bullying he despised! “Uh, guys, I just… really can’t be bothered, y’know? I need to concentrate on… on my evil plans! You know how it is, I am the Dark Lord…”

Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed. “Is that really it, Voldemort?”

“Yeah,” Lucius chimed in, “are you sure that’s it? Are you sure you’re not… scared?’

“Of course I’m not scared, I’m the Dark Lord!”

“Well then, why don’t you do it?” Bellatrix was studying his face, her expression laced with suspicion.

“I know!” Lucius sounded triumphant, and in that moment, Voldemort knew he was going to hate whatever Lucius said next. “I dare you! Now you have to!”

Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit shit shit. He couldn't refuse a dare. Everyone thought he was fearless; if he didn't do it now, everyone would think he was too scared to do something as stupid as asking Queer-inus Quirrell to the Yule Ball and his reputation would be torn to shreds. He couldn't risk that.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

Bellatrix’s triumphant shriek and manic clapping at his words were almost enough to drown out the thoughts running through Voldemort’s head, the ones that were drenched in guilt and sadness and hatred, both for his friends and for what he now had to do.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I keep writing such short chapters??? Anyway, will try to update as often as possible, if you have any feedback or anything you want to say about this fic at all then PLEASE leave a comment!!! Hope you're all enjoying this :D


	3. Roses

The next morning, something was subtly… different. Quirrell couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew there was something. Every time he looked at someone- anyone- they seemed to look away quicker than usual, as if they’d been staring at him, and everywhere he walked, there seemed to be a quiet susurration, a shivering cloud of tiny sounds that could only be whispering. Of course, people staring at him and whispering about him was hardly unusual, but there hadn't been anything this widespread in years. He knew, without question, it would be those Slytherin’s faults. The ones that had been bullying him. Well, he’d had more than his fair share of rumours spread about him in the past, he could deal with it.

As he sat at one end of the Ravenclaw table, eating breakfast, he tried to keep an eye out for Bellatrix and Lucius, just in case. He didn't want to be the victim of some sort of surprise attack. It was a while before they came in, but when they did, the effect was instantaneous. Every eye in the great hall turned to them, watching them, following them. The room took on an expectant air. Quirrell suddenly felt very nervous.

As he watched- out of the corner of his eye as he worried that directly staring would attract too much attention- he could see them begin to walk towards the Ravenclaw table, in a trio of malevolence that made him more and more nervous with each step that they took. They walked to the other end of the table from where he was sitting and stopped and began to whisper to each other. Then, surprisingly and more than a little bit terrifyingly, it was not Bellatrix or Lucius who walked forward towards him, it was the only one of the trio who’d never actually bullied him. That didn't mean that Quirrell was any less scared though, as he watched the infamous Dark Lord Voldemort walk down the length of the table towards him.

The whole of the great hall was silent, the only audible sound being the steps Voldemort took as he strode towards him. Quirrell thought he almost looked a little self conscious or even nervous… but that was ridiculous. What reason would Voldemort, the feared Dark Lord, have to be nervous? It was Quirrell who had cause to be nervous, and he was, he really was. With every step, Voldemort got a little closer, and Quirrell’s heart beat a little faster. Two metres away… one metre away… and suddenly he was there, looming above Quirrell like an executioner above a criminal. Quirrell awaited the fatal blow, whatever it may be, with a kind of terrified acceptance. Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath…

“Um… Quirinus, I was just wondering if you’d, er, like to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

At Voldemort’s tentative words, the whispering began again in full force, but Quirrell didn't notice. He was too busy trying to get his brain to process what had just happened, and to think of a more eloquent response than ‘What the actual fuck?’. Of all the things he’d guessed that Voldemort might say or do to him in the few long moments before he actually spoke, asking him to the Yule Ball was so far down the list that it hadn't even entered his mind. What to say back? It was obviously a trick, orchestrated by Bellatrix and Lucius, and if for some bizarre reason it wasn’t… did Voldemort honestly expect him to say yes? His two friends had made his life a misery for a whole year. Did he honestly expect him to just overlook that? He wasn't even scared now, he was angry. Really really fucking angry.

“Are you serious?!” Quirrell stood up, and was surprised to find that he was almost the exact same height as Voldemort, a fact that evidently surprised Voldemort as well from the look in his eyes.

“Well… I just wanted to…” Voldemort stammered. At another time, Quirrell would have been amazed and thrilled to have made the Dark Lord himself visibly confused and scared, but there was no time for that now.  
“I don’t care what you wanted. Stay the fuck away from me. You and your stupid friends!” Quirrell grabbed his school bag, glared at Voldemort , and sprinted out of the room.

 

* * *

 

All Voldemort felt, in the moments after Quirrell’s exit, was shock. Pure, complete shock… and the tiniest bit of admiration. From what he’d seen before, standing up to bullies didn't seem to be Quirrell’s thing, and yet he’d just had the courage to turn him down in front of the entire school! For just a moment, he let himself smile slightly, and just admire the guy a bit. To have been bullied since first year, and yet still be strong enough to stand up to someone like him… Abruptly, Voldemort became aware that Bellatrix was shouting at him, and the moment was gone.

“My lord!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards where she and Lucius had been standing during all of that, yanking him into their little huddle.

“Sorry Trixie! If he won’t come with me he won’t come! It’s not exactly my fault!”

“You idiot!” Her voice was a sharp, angry hiss. “You’re going to have to ask him again.”

“What?!”

“You heard me! And try harder this time!”

“Trixie!”

“Voldemort, you really will have to try harder next time.” Lucius’ voice was disapproving.

“I never said there’d be a next time!”

“Well there’s going to have to be.” Bellatrix’s tone suggested that there would be severe consequences if there wasn’t. “You’ll have to try and be more romantic.”

“Wha… romantic?!”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “Jeez, my lord, you don't actually have to like him! Just… act!”

“It really isn't hard, my lord. Surely even you can do that?” Lucius voice was dripping with so much sarcasm that Voldemort felt like hexing him with something completely unpleasant.

Romantic… romantic… was he even capable of being romantic? What sort of things were romantic? He'd suppressed all emotion for so long that he wasn't sure he knew...

Wait. Suddenly, he had an idea.

“Hey Bellatrix, can I borrow your quill? And some parchment…”

 

* * *

 

If Quirrell had thought the previous levels of whispering and looking were high, it was nothing to how high they were now. For his first two lessons, he almost felt as though he had some permanent spotlight shining on him, what with the amount of attention people were paying to him. It was like he was in a musical, on stage for everyone to see… except that he couldn't dance, of course. He was a terrible dancer, but a rather good singer.

As he took his seat in his third lesson of the day, Potions, the only thing that could have drawn more attention to him was a piece of parchment, folded into a paper aeroplane, flying through the window and hitting him on the head.

Unfortunately, that was what happened.

He would have tried to blame somebody in his class- it wasn't the first time he’d had things thrown at him- but it had definitely come through the window. Fully aware that all eyes in the room were on him, he grabbed the paper aeroplane and examined it.

Nothing obvious on the outside, which was odd. Normally, pieces of paper thrown at him would be covered in various homophobic taunts which he’d, in time, learned to ignore. Tentatively, he unfolded it, and as he suspected, it revealed a message. A short line of written text in an unfamiliar handwriting.

“Meet me in the library at lunch?”

Ignoring the small cluster of students that had gathered around his desk to see what the message said, he shoved the paper in the inside pocket of his robes and weighed up whether or not to go meet the sender of the note. If it wasn't Voldemort, it would be some other bullying asshole who he could ignore. And if it was Voldemort… well, he was still pretty fucking pissed about earlier. Plus, he’d been meaning to take out Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility for a while now… Yeah. He was going to go. All that worked out, he put his head down and tried to focus on this lesson’s potion recipe. He was a Ravenclaw after all.

 

* * *

 

Voldemort was nervous, much more so than he thought he’d be. He was only asking some little nerd to the Yule Ball, not even cause he wanted to, but because his friends had told him to. It was stupid for him to be nervous.

And yet he couldn’t help it. What if Quirrell didn't even turn up? What if he was stood up by the biggest loser in school? Worse, what if he did turn up, and then rejected Voldemort again? Bellatrix and Lucius would really kill him then. And the absolute worst case scenario… what if he said yes? If he was being totally honest with himself, he really wasn't sure he could do something this cruel to someone like Quirrell. It was stupid; he was supposed to be the ruthless Dark Lord… but he just couldn’t. But it was too late now. Far, far too late.

Oh shit, he was here! Voldemort watched as Quirrell strode in, far more confident than Voldemort had ever seen him. Oh crap, this morning hadn't given him some sort of confidence boost had it? The last thing he needed was a sassy Quirrell.

Voldemort watched as Quirrell saw him standing in the corner of the library, partially concealed by one of the library’s colossal shelves, and them began to approach quite rapidly with something close to fury in his eyes. Oh fuck.

“Voldemort, I said stay away from me. I suppose your friends are around the next shelf, laughing.”

“They’re not here.”

“Yeah right.”

“No seriously, they’re really not! I wanted to meet you… alone.”

Something in his face or voice must have convinced Quirrell, because he stayed put. “Okay… why?”  
Voldemort noticed that more than a few students were very obviously pretending not to watch them. Well, great. Didn’t that make all of this so much harder.

Voldemort took a deep breath. “Look, I wanted to ask you again. You know, ask if you’ll go it the Yule Ball. With me? I mean…” Wizard God, why was this so hard?! Was it just because of earlier? It couldn't be that though, could it? He’d felt nervous, and even slightly self conscious, walking up the length of the Ravenclaw table that morning.

“I’m sorry, but it’s obviously some stupid joke.”

“It really isn’t!” Voldemort said, hating himself for lying to Quirrell. “I just wondered if you wanted to go, thats all.”

Quirrell considered this for a moment. “Okay… ask me in the most cringey way you can think of, and then I’ll believe you.”

Bloody hell, Quirrell was turning out to be way more than what he bargained for! Voldemort quickly thought for a moment, and then without warning, grabbed a random book and transfigured it into a bouquet of perfect red roses. Turning back to Quirrell, he held them out, and tried to speak earnestly. “Quirinus Quirrell, will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

It apparently worked, if Quirrell’s astonished expression and him taking the bouquet were anything to go by. “Alright.” he said. “But I’m warning you now, if this is a trick… I don’t even know what I’ll do.”

“Fair enough. By the way… are the roses overkill?” Wait, had he actually just said that out loud?

Quirrell looked more than a bit surprised at his question. “No, they’re… nice. I like flowers.” Then, apparently deciding he’d said too much, he shot one last wary glance Voldemort’s way and, in a bizarre parody of that morning, fled.

Voldemort was left feeling more confused than before… and more than a little intrigued. Who was Quirinus Quirrell? He’d thought he knew before. But now he suspected there was way more to Quirrell than he’d previously thought… and he was determined to find out exactly what that ‘more’ was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so rushed! Basically, for various reasons I'm not going to have my laptop for the next two weeks, so I wanted to give you a chapter before that, and so I rushed it. Hope it's alright regardless! As always, leave a comment if you have anything at all to say about this fic, I'd really appreciate it :D


	4. Like the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand we're back! Sorry for such a long hiatus there, I had no laptop for almost three weeks. It was hell. But anyway, thankyou all so much for all the lovely comments! They seriously make my day! Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the others! :D

Quirrell had never been a particularly optimistic or hopeful person. Well, alright, that wasn't strictly true. He had been once, but that was a long time ago, before he’d come to Hogwarts and had nearly all of his hope and optimism knocked out of him. He thought though, as he ate breakfast the day after Voldemort had asked him to the Yule Ball, that he might just be getting some of that optimism and hope back. Quirrell wasn’t stupid. He knew it would probably end badly, that it was probably just another stupid joke set up by Voldemort’s asshole friends, but a tiny part of him kept hoping beyond all reason that it wasn’t. If he went to the Yule Ball with one of the most popular (albeit one of the most feared) guys in his school year… he’d never be bullied again. Well, at least not for his last term at school, anyway. If Voldemort did turn out to be at least somewhat attracted to guys, then everyone would see that it was normal. Maybe they’d accept him. He might even end up with friends.

Even now, one day after it had happened, stares of disgust had turned into ones of curiosity and astonishment. It was a small change, but it was certainly a step in the right direction. Quirrell smiled to himself as he sat and ate. He just hoped to wizard god that it wasn't a joke.

 

* * *

 

“That was simply a stroke of genius, my lord!”

“It truly was!”

Word had got around very quickly about what had happened between Voldemort and Quirrell in the library, and Bellatrix and Lucius were still praising Voldemort for it the next morning in the common room, as their little trio got ready to go down for breakfast.

“Asking him with the roses was incredible, my lord!” Bellatrix gushed whilst fixing her tie. “It makes it all so much more believable! You just need to keep doing shit like that right up until the Yule Ball, and then once you actually reveal it was all a joke…”

“It’ll be so much more painful for the little freak!” Lucius began to cackle like some witch in a cheesy fantasy movie.

Voldemort ignored the stupid part of him that just felt uncomfortable and guilty about the whole thing, and grinned at them both. “Well, I am the Dark Lord!” They all laughed together.

“We need to make a plan though, my lord.” Bellatrix’s expression switched abruptly to one of complete seriousness.

Voldemort frowned. “What? How come?”

“Well, the roses were a great start, but if Queer-inus is actually going to believe that you like him then you need to be consistant!”

Oh no. This could be bad. After the whole rose incident Voldemort had given himself a stern talking-to. He couldn't allow himself to become friends with a little weirdo like Queer-inus Quirrell. He just couldn’t! He’d lose any amount of respect or fear he’d gained over his time at Hogwarts, and he couldn't let that happen. So, he’d decided that the best course of action would be to keep his distance from Quirrell as much as possible- obviously he’d have to see him sometimes, to keep Bellatrix’s stupid plan working, but the majority of the time he’d stay away. That way, Bellatrix’s plan would work, he wouldn't end up doing something idiotic like getting… attached, and everyone would be happy.

Well… except for Quirrell. Voldemort knew that if this plan worked, it would completely break the poor guy, but he didn't care. He. Didn’t. Care.

“Oh wizard god Trixie…” he moaned, rolling his eyes and pretending that his reluctance was only a result of his dislike of Quirrell. “What do I have to do?”

Bellatrix looked sympathetic. “I’m sorry my lord! Wizard god knows I wouldn't be relishing the thought of spending time with that little freak, if it were me… but it’s necessary.”

“Fine…”

“I think we should start things off with you sitting at his table at for the meals today.”

“What?!”

“I’m sorry my lord but it would be really helpful for the plan…”

“Fuck that plan! I’d lose my reputation Trixie! No one would ever respect or fear me again if they saw me sitting with Queer-inus Quirrell!”

She stared at him for a moment. “Why would you lose your reputation? The whole school knows it’s a joke! They’ll be cheering you on!”

“Oh.” That… that changed everything! If everyone was in on it, there’d be no need for him to worry about his reputation (and, a very unhelpful little voice at the back of his head added, it would mean that he could spend more time with Quirrell without suspicion)… “Okay then, I’ll do it.”

Amid their clapping and cheering at Voldemort’s words, neither Bellatrix nor Lucius noticed him smiling to himself. Just a tiny smile, But it was there.

 

* * *

 

People always stared when the three known as the “Death Eaters” walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, but they stared an above-average amount that morning, everyone watching to see how Voldemort would treat Quirrell.

Quirrell resisted the urge to cast a Disillusionment charm on himself and run for cover. If it was a joke, his brain helpfully reminded him, this would be the perfect time for Voldemort to reveal it and humiliate him in front of the whole school, who were watching intently as the three of them walked towards Slytherin. Hundreds of eyes followed them.

There was a collective moment of stunned silence as Voldemort broke from the group, waved goodbye to Bellatrix and Lucius, and then walked over and sat down next to Quirrell.

For a moment, everyone was silent. Then, gasps and whispers broke out everywhere, all of the quiet individual conversations combining at once to create a huge roar of sudden sound. Stunned, Quirrell forced himself to look over at Voldemort, and was surprised to find him smiling, almost shyly. The expression simultaneously calmed and worried him. It could be genuine, but it could also be that Voldemort was just a very good actor…

“D’you mind if I sit here?”

“Uh, no…”

“Cool.” Voldemort smiled, reached for a platter of bacon and then Summoned two far-off slices of bread, which few above the heads of a group of whispering Ravenclaws towards them. Quirrell’s eyes followed them on their flight, mildly impressed, especially when they landed perfectly on Voldemort’s plate.

“You really want to go through with this, then?”

Voldemort frowned, in the process of putting together a bacon sandwich. “What?”

“You know. This. You. Me. The ball.”

“Why wouldn't I? I asked you, man. With roses.”

“Yeah, I know, but… why?” A tiny, hidden part of Quirrell hoped that Voldemort would confess some sort of secret crush, if only because it would do wonders to stop the bullying.

Voldemort was silent for a moment, and briefly looked down at his food, before seeming to gather his courage and looking back up again. Their eyes met and in the few seconds before Voldemort spoke, Quirrell’s brain very unhelpfully made a note of how nice Voldemort’s eyes were.

“I… I wanted to apologise for how my friends treat you, but then I thought an apology wouldn't be enough and I wanted to do something to make sure they stopped but I couldn't think what, I mean I couldn't just tell them to stop cause they don’t always listen to me, and I couldn't invite you to be friend with us or something, the other Slytherins would eat you alive.” He was starting to look embarrassed. “Then Trix- Bellatrix made that remark about how you’d never get a date to the Yule Ball or something and so I just thought, well, what if I invited you to the Yule Ball? I know it’s nothing and it probably won't even help but I just wanted to do something…” Quirrell gingerly put his hand on Voldemort’s arm to try and reassure him. He’d never seen him like this before. Well, not that he’d spent much- or really any- time with Voldemort beforehand, but the times he had seen him (swaggering confidently down the corridors, or hiding in the shadows looking irritated whilst his friends hurled insults) he’d never given off the impression that he’d be the sort to get easily flustered.

“Thank you, Voldemort. I really appreciate it.”

“I know it’s not enough to make up for what they did but…”

“No, it’s fine. At least you tried. No-one else ever does.”

They both smiled at each other for a moment, softly, tentatively, gratefully, before returning to their breakfast and eating in a comfortable silence. Quirrell’s head was reeling. He’d never even considered that any of the three Death Eaters could have hidden depths, and yet here was Voldemort, the Dark Lord, the one everyone feared, being kind and thoughtful and worrying that he wasn’t doing enough to help the most unpopular kid in school. It was the most surreal thing that had ever happened to him, but he didn't doubt for a second that it had been genuine. If it had been a performance, it had been Oscar-worthy.

Quirrell grinned to himself, not noticing Voldemort watching out of the corner of his eye. Maybe his luck was finally changing.

 

* * *

 

After breakfast was over, Voldemort had Potions. It was a class he normally found unusually tolerable, but today he didn't even hear what the professor was saying over the constant, unending repetition of “Oh shiiiiit” running through his head.

He kept remembering Quirrell’s sunny grin after they’d stopped talking, so bright and happy, how his eyes had lit up and how adorable he’d been in his joy. Because Voldemort had told him a lie.

He felt sick. He knew now, too late, that he couldn't go though with it. He’d known all along, really, but this morning had been the final proof. So what the hell could he do now? He certainly couldn't leave Quirrell. He’d never really made anyone happy before, and it was a wonderful feeling. Plus, if he did, the bullying would start again in full force and he really, really did not want that to happen. Not to Quirrell. He didn't think he could bear it if anyone hurt Quirrell ever again. But, likewise, he couldn't just cop out of the plan. Bellatrix would kill him.

So what to do?

After a few moments of frantic thinking, he’d made up his mind. He’d carry on with Bellatrix’s stupid plan, but if anyone tried to hurt Quirrell, anyone at all, he would Crucio them quicker than you could say Zefron. That included Bellatrix and Lucius. And he’d never lie to Quirrell again, unless it was absolutely necessary.

His mission now, at least until the Ball, was to make sure Quirrell was happy. The poor guy had already suffered too much.

And it wasn’t at all because he wanted to see Quirrell smile like that again. Not at all…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you go! As always, if you have anything at all to say about this fic please leave a comment, they keep me going. Hope you enjoyed :D


	5. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I always forget to say this but, I have no beta, so any mistakes are purely mine and I'm an idiot. I really hope it doesn't suck. :D

During the next few days, marked changes appeared in the lives of both Voldemort and Quirrell. Voldemort now sat at the Ravenclaw table for every meal. At this, Quirrell had become worried that Voldemort would miss his Slytherin friends and told Voldemort it was fine if he wanted to sit back at the Slytherin table one day, but Voldemort, keeping his promise that he would never lie to Quirrell again, told him the truth: that he actually liked sitting there. During the school day they never had much cause to meet- Ravenclaw and Slytherin never had classes together after all- but now whenever they passed each other in a corridor, they might smile, or wave, or stop to say “Hi” if they had time.

They had started having deeper conversations during their meals together too; whilst still getting used to the new arrangements they had only talked about inconsequential things like the weather, or the latest news in the Prophet, and now they had progressed to slightly more important things, like favourite school subjects (Quirrell’s was Herbology, Voldemort’s was the Dark Arts. When Quirrell replied that that wasn’t an actual subject, Voldemort had just replied “That’s what you think!” and launched into an explanation of some of his favourite curses. Quirrell, to his credit, hadn’t been creeped out, and had actually seemed interested). Voldemort had been surprised to find Quirrell intelligent and witty- though, he reflected as he sat and ate lunch with Quirrell on Friday- two days after his first time sitting there- that shouldn't really have been a surprise, given that he was a Ravenclaw. He was also kind, and, though he did still seem slightly wary of him (which Voldemort thought was fair enough in all honestly), Voldemort thought they might actually be becoming… friends.

He’d thought that his relationships with Bellatrix and Lucius were friendship, but now he was becoming increasingly worried that perhaps they weren’t, that they had never been, so. He’d never felt as relaxed, as calm, as happy with them as he did now with Quirrell. How would you know though? How to tell the difference between friendship and other relationships? An idea struck him, and he reached over to where Quirrell sat beside him, eating his own lunch and currently engrossed in some probably crappy Muggle book. He tapped Quirrell on the arm, and watched as Quirrell slowly came back to reality before turning to face him. “Yeah, Voldemort?”

“I was just wondering… how do you know if you’re friends with someone?”

Quirrell studied him for a moment, before raising one eyebrow. “Interesting you’re asking me that. I don’t exactly have an abundance of friends.”

Voldemort winced at a reminder of all that Quirrell had endured up until this point. They had both, by unspoken agreement, avoided talking about that subject thus far; to be reminded of it now hurt a lot- although, he supposed, nowhere near the amount it probably hurt Quirrell…

“Voldemort?” Quirrell’s voice brought him back to real life abruptly, and he realised that for a while there, he’d just been staring down at his food, silent and unmoving whilst he thought. Well, that was embarrassing.

“Sorry man! Just kinda got lost in thought for a minute there. You were saying?”

“Okay then… how to tell you’re friends with someone. Hmm… I guess you just think, am I close to this person? Do I feel comfortable around them? Do we share interests, or have good conversations? Do we like each other? Do they help me out, and I them? That sort of thing. At least… that’s what I’ve always imagined it would be like.”

Suddenly, what sounded like a tiny alarm went off and a watch on Quirrell’s wrist started pausing with blue light. “What’s that?” Voldemort asked, as Quirrell swore, looked down to turn the alarm off, and abruptly began stuffing his things into his bag as though preparing to leave.

“Just my alarm, the one to remind me to go to Herbology club.” He stood up. “I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to go now, can’t be late.”

“But… but it’s only ten minutes into Lunch!” Voldemort protested, suddenly feeling compelled by a need to keep Quirrell at the table.

“I’m really sorry.” Quirrell stood up, bag packed. “See you at dinner?” For some reason, he made it sound like a question, and Voldemort hated that. As if whether or not he wanted to see Quirrell was actually a question. He watched Quirrell walk away, suddenly feeling… alone.

Which was stupid as fuck. He had other friends, Bellatrix and Lucius- he could go and sit with them for the rest of lunch. Ignoring the curious looks he was getting from people of all houses, he rose, picked up his food and bag, strode over to the Slytherin table and sat down next to a very surprised Bellatrix.

“My lord? What are you doing here? Where’s Queer-inus?” When he didn't immediately answer, Bellatrix’s voice rose in pitch and she seemed to become slightly frantic. “Oh, my lord, please tell me you haven’t given up on the plan! You were doing so well, sitting with him and everything! Just now, me and Lucius were talking about things you could do to make it more convincing…”

“Trixie, I haven’t given up on the plan,” She audibly sighed with relief. “It’s just that Quir- Queer-inus has gone to Herbology club or some other shitty thing so I thought I’d take the opportunity to come and sit with you again.” He felt almost revolted at how easy he found it to make it sound like he hated Quirrell.

“I’m not surprised you did, my lord. It must be unbearable, having to talk to that little freak all the time.”

“Oh, it is.” He ignored the urge to Crucio himself at that. It was necessary though, if he was to maintain his friendships with Bellatrix and Lucius.

“Herbology club eh?” Lucius drawled. Voldemort could sense the insult before it came. It made his blood boil. “So, the little pansy likes Pansies, does he?” As Lucius and Bellatrix both laughed at Lucius’ horrible joke, it took every ounce of Voldemort’s self control not to murder both of them.

“Guys, you shouldn’t say stuff like that about him. Not anymore.”

They both stopped laughing and turned to face him, looking curious. “Why not, my lord?” Bellatrix asked.

“Because…” Oh shit, he hadn't thought this through, had he… “Because what if someone overhears and tells him? The plan will fail! He’ll never believe anything I say ever again!”

Bellatrix and Lucius both looked dubious, but thankfully rather than bringing it up they both returned to their food, in silence.

“Didn’t you say you both had ideas of things I could do for the plan, or something?” Voldemort said in an effort to change the subject which, mercifully, worked.

Bellatrix’s eyes gleamed. “Oh yes, my lord! So many! We made a list, here…” She pulled a piece of parchment from her bag and handed it to him. On it was a neatly written list of things for him to do with Quirrell. Most of them were along the same lines as his thing with the roses earlier that week, when he’d first asked Quirrell to the Ball. Romantic things.

“We thought your next thing should be asking him to Hogsmeade this weekend.” Bellatrix said, pointing to where the word ‘Hogsmeade’ was written on the parchment. Of course! This weekend was the last Hogsmeade weekend before the Yule Ball, the one that everyone used to go and buy last minute accessories and makeup to wear to the Ball. That reminded him… he’d never actually considered what he and Quirrell would be wearing to the Ball. Dress robes, obviously, but what about ties? He knew from previous Balls that guys normally wore ties that matched their date’s dress, but how would that work with the two of them? Would they wear matching ties? If that was the case, they’d probably have to go to Hogsmeade regardless of whether or not Bellatrix wanted them to, given that all the ties he owned were green… And suddenly he found himself imagining Quirrell in dress robes, tight dress robes, and that was… something he should really not be imagining. It was bad enough he’d caught himself admiring Quirrell’s smile and eyes on more than one occasion recently. He and Quirrell were only just friends, it was beyond inappropriate, and Voldemort really did not want to start thinking about what that might mean…

“My lord? Voldemort?”  
Bellatrix’s voice snapped him out of it. “Sorry Trixie, just… thinking…”

Bellatrix looked doubtful, but seemed to accept what he’d said. “Whatever. Anyway, so, I want you to ask Queer-inus to Hogsmeade when you have dinner with him tonight. Think you can do that?”

“Yeah, of course. Is there… anything else you’d like me to do? For the plan, I mean?”

Her eyes took on that evil gleam again. “Well, we thought after Hogsmeade, you should try to…” Voldemort let the sound of her voice wash over him and fade into a distant, far off murmur as he stupidly let his thoughts drift back to Quirrell, to things they might be talking about if he was here, to things he might say, to how his eyes would light up when he asked him to Hogsmeade…and to how guilty and sad he felt at the fact that this was all fake.

 

* * *

 

Quirrell thought that he’d never had a weirder week in his life. From being bullied as usual at the start, to the most feared guy in school asking him to the Yule ball, to the bullying dying off, to the last few days when he and Voldemort, of all people, had eaten together and apparently fallen into a sort of friendship… to now, dinner, when Voldemort had just asked him to go to Hogsmeade. With him.

He shouldn’t really have been surprised, he thought in the few moments between Voldemort asking and him replying. Enough weird things had happened this week that he should have been used to it by now… and yet, he wasn’t.

“Of course I’ll go with you to Hogsmeade, Voldemort.” He replied, and was pleased when he was rewarded with Voldemort looking relieved and even blushing slightly.

That had also been a ridiculously weird thing he’d discovered during these past few days- how nice Voldemort was. Granted, he was still slightly wary of him (it could all be just a very good act, after all), but Voldemort really did seem almost… shy, sometimes. At least, when talking to him. It was… oddly endearing. He was still obsessed with the dark arts of course, but even that that was kind of sweet, what with the way his eyes lit up when he was talking about curses…

And now he was describing Voldemort as sweet. And he had a- was it a date? He was slightly afraid to ask- with Voldemort to prepare for.

Yep, this was without a doubt the weirdest week Quirrell had ever had. Not that he was complaining. It was also one of the best.

 

* * *

 

As Voldemort lay in bed that night, he didn't think he’d been as happy as he was then for a long while.

He had a date! A proper, bonafide, actual real life date with Quirrell! Just as friends, of course, and they hadn't even called it a date, but Voldemort knew what was really. Dates could be between friends, right? Oh, they were going to have so much fun! They could go round the shops maybe (Voldemort actually detested shopping, unless it was for cool stuff like snakes and skulls and shit, but he was completely willing to go if Quirrell wanted too), and then after that, they could go to the Three Broomsticks and get Butterbeer and just… talk. Talk properly, without a whole hall of people staring at them… and without Bellatrix and Lucius in the same room, watching him and Quirrell like hawks.

The instant he thought those words, he felt like a traitor. Bellatrix and Lucius were his friends!

Weren’t they?

He thought back to what Quirrell had said earlier that day, about how to tell if you were friends with someone. What had he said again? “Am I close to this person?” Of course he was close to Bellatrix and Lucius! They’d all been friends since first year! “Do we share interests, or have good conversations?” Well… yeah, they shared interests. All three of them loved the dark arts… but, a tiny voice at the back of his head reminded him, neither Bellatrix nor Lucius knew about his favourite things: his love of dancing, how much he loved Zefron. That was okay though. Being friends with someone didn't mean you had to tell them everything, right? And they did have good conversations. At least when they weren't talking about bullying Quirrell.

What else had he said? “Do we like each other?” That was an easy one! Of course he liked Bellatrix and Lucius.

Didn't he?

His thoughts stupidly turned to Quirrell, and he smiled. He hoped they were close. He thought they might be becoming close. He didn't think they shared any interests, but that was okay- they had great conversations. And he really, really liked Quirrell…

No. He was overthinking this. Bellatrix and Lucius were his friends. Quirrell was just some guy he… he felt sorry for! Yeah, that was it! There wasn’t any more to it than that. There couldn’t be.

 

* * *

 

Voldemort’s dreams were filled with Quirrell that night- his eyes, his smile, how adorable he was. And how nice he would look in dress robes…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you have anything AT ALL to say about this fic, PLEASE leave a comment, you have no idea how much they mean to me. Really hope you enjoyed! *runs off to write the next chapter* :D


	6. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this latest chapter took so long! It's just cause it's MUCH longer than my usual chapter lengths. Btw, I don't think I've mentioned this on here before, so I'm going to talk about it now... I have a Tumblr! My url is thatgirlnamedeleanor (wow I'm so imaginative!) and whilst it's mostly The Book of Mormon musical stuff atm, feel free to come and say hi if you want! Anyway, I really hope you enjoy the chapter :D

The next morning, Quirrell woke up much earlier than usual, and for a moment, struggled to remember why. Of course! It was Saturday, the day of his- date? He still wasn’t sure- with Voldemort. For a moment, he sat and contemplated how crazy that was. He had a- oh fuck it, he was going to call it a date anyway- date. With Voldemort. To Hogsmeade. Presumably, to go and pick out matching ties or whatever to wear on their next date, to the Yule Ball.

When had his life become… like this? Okay, bad phrasing- of course he knew what day it had been when Voldemort had asked him to the Yule Ball, it had been Tuesday. But when- or more importantly, why- had his life changed so drastically? He was still very conscious of the fact that it could all be some cruel Bellatrix prank, but from the way Voldemort had stuck to it, from the conversations they had had, from how almost shy Voldemort acted around him… somehow, he didn't think that was very likely.

Was it possible that something in his life was actually turning out okay?

He contemplated getting up now to go get ready for the date, but then decided not to. It was a date with a probably straight friend, to Hogsmeade, in winter, a week before Christmas. There was no need to look nice; he’d probably spend most of it wrapped up in a winter cloak.

Still, as Quirrell tried to fall back asleep, he did so with a smile on his face. He had a date!

 

* * *

 

In another dorm, in another house, another student was up at the exact same time as Quirrell. Unlike Quirrell, Voldemort had actually set his alarm to wake him up at that time. Along with the alarm, he’d also set up a plethora of silencing and privacy charms around his area of his dorm- he did not want his roommates discovering that he had woken up early to prepare for a date with Quirrell.

Once he was satisfied that all his charms were working correctly (yelling swear words at roommates wasn't perhaps the most academic way to test how well a silencing charm worked, but it did get the job done), Voldemort went to get out every set of robes he possessed that weren’t school uniform. Unfortunately, he only had one set… and they were black. Well, they’d have to do. Now, to choose the shoes…

He cast a quick Tempus charm, which revealed the he had just over two hours before he was due to meet Quirrell in the Great Hall for breakfast. Well, if he couldn't make himself look nice in two hours, he’d never be able to. Time to get to work!

 

* * *

 

When Voldemort entered the Great Hall that morning, there was a large number of actual, audible gasps. Quirrell gaped, his mouth cartoonishly wide as he drank in the sight of Voldemort looking… like that.

His robes were black as a rich, velvety night sky, and tailored to perfection; the trousers in particular delightfully tight and the thin white shirt underneath the equally tight jacket showing off muscles Quirrell hadn’t previously known Voldemort possessed. He wore a deep green tie around his neck (a Slytherin to the end, thought Quirrell vaguely as he stared) and the dragonhide boots he wore added a little badass flair. The deep black of the material contrasted amazingly with his pale skin, and his hair was slicked back with some sort of hair potion, showing off his incredible cheekbones, which Quirrell had previously noticed but hadn't really looked at properly until now. Fastened around his neck with silver clasps patterned with an intricate filigree was a thick, luxurious looking black winter cloak, edged and lined with some sort of thick silver fur.

Quirrell looked down at his own outfit, which consisted of a pair of black muggle jeans, muggle trainers, a plain light blue shirt, a cheap black jacket he’d worn only because it was warm, and an old, worn black cloak. He’d never felt more underdressed in his life.

Voldemort came and sat down next to him with a slight flourish, and it took a few moments for Quirrell to gather the courage to look over at him. When he did, he was astonished to find Voldemort looking… nervous?!

“Hey Quirrell… are you okay? You’re just sorta, you know, staring at me?”

Quirrell abruptly realised that his mouth was still hanging open, and closed it quickly. “Yeah, yeah, Voldemort, I’m fine, completely fine, um… how are you?”

“Well, ugh, I’m fine I guess, just… if I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?”

“Of course!” Quirrell said, fully aware he was sounding slightly strangled.

“Well, uh…” He fidgeted with the elaborate silver clasps of his cloak, which just drew Quirrell’s attention to Voldemort’s perfect, pale neck, which was… really not something he should be thinking about. “It’s just… do you think I look okay? Everyone was staring at me so I was just wondering if I’ve done something wrong or…?”

“Done something wrong?!” Quirrell nearly laughed out loud. “No way! Everyone was just staring because you look…” He blushed furiously at all of the words flooding his head, and at how many of them were inappropriate. “…Really great.”

Voldemort’s smile was adorable in its relief and sincerity, and then he turned away to begin eating, giving Quirrell a much needed moment to recollect his sanity. He was not in any way attracted to this random, probably evil Slytherin guy with horrible friends, slightly racist opinions and an obsession with the dark arts. He wasn't that stupid. At the front of his mind, always, was the fact that this was very likely all a trick. He wouldn't let himself become attracted to him. But… there was nothing wrong with becoming friends.

His train of thought was interrupted by Voldemort turning to him to make a joke about two of the professors, which was actually very funny. As he laughed, he mentally told himself firmly that this was as far as it was going to get. It had to be.

 

* * *

 

They walked to Hogsmeade together, wrapping their cloaks tighter around themselves and (Voldemort especially) moaning about how bloody cold it was, until Quirrell remembered warming charms and cast one on each of them. Free at last from the biting pain of the winter air, Voldemort took the opportunity to look over at Quirrell as he walked beside him. He really was adorable, with his cheeks flushed from the cold and his tight muggle jeans (which he normally detested- they were muggle after all- but which were somehow bearable- more than bearable- on Quirrell)… Quirrell noticed him watching and looked over, their eyes connecting for one brief moment before Voldemort lost his nerve and looked back down at the snow-covered path they walked along.

“So,” Quirrell began. “What are we actually doing in Hogsmeade?”

“Um…” It was at that point Voldemort remembered that he hadn’t actually thought about what they were supposed to be doing on this date. “Is it bad that I don’t actually know?” Quirrell chuckled, which he took as a no.

“I just thought it would be nice for us to, y’know, spend some time together. Or whatever.” He could sense Quirrell’s gaze and looked over at him, and was relieved to find him smiling.

“Okay then.” Quirrell said. “Lets spend some time together. Or whatever.”

Voldemort laughed in response, and then his laughter lapsed into silence as he just stared at Quirrell, taking in his sunny smile, and how it lit up his beautiful eyes…

“Voldemort?” Quirrell’s voice brought him back to earth pretty quickly. “Are you okay?”

He’d been staring for too long. Crap. “Uh, yeah man, course! I’m fine! Completely fine!”

“Okay…” Quirrell seemed unconvinced, but was still smiling as they walked down the final section of the path… and found themselves in Hogsmeade.

It was like something on the front of a christmas card. The houses and shops and streets were all covered in thick, shimmering blankets of snow. Strings of brightly coloured lights were draped across the roofs of all the buildings, and entwined around lamp posts. Glittery christmas displays glowed from inside icy shop windows. Everywhere, students from the school ran and walked and threw snowballs, snowflakes floating down from the all-white sky and dancing in the air around them.

“Wow.” Quirrell breathed, almost reverently. “It’s beautiful!”

Voldemort looked down at his boots, now covered in slowly melting snow. “I guess…”

Quirrell must have picked up on something in his tone, because he instantly turned to stare at him, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing… it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I’m just… not the biggest fan of christmas, okay.” He continued determinedly to stare at his boots.

Quirrell looked puzzled. “Why? What’s not to like?”

“I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

Quirrell still looked confused, and curious, but thankfully didn’t press the issue. “Okay. But if you ever do… you can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

Voldemort finally turned to face Quirrell, and studied his expression. It wasn’t in his nature, as a Slytherin, to trust people, but as he looked at Quirrell he could detect no hints of dishonestly or malicious intent- he just looked ernest, and kind. He felt himself blush and hastily looked away. He needed to change the subject, now.

“So, uh, what do you want to do first?”

He watched as Quirrell surveyed the area, his eyes flitting from shop to shop, and then finally coming back to rest on Voldemort. “I don’t really mind, to be honest. Just as long as it’s somewhere warm.”

Now that Quirrell mentioned it, he was starting to feel pretty cold again. The warming charm must be wearing off. “Butterbeer?”

Quirrell grinned. “Butterbeer.”

 

* * *

 

Compared to the icy chill outside, The Three Broomsticks was almost ferociously warm. Voldemort could count at least three different log fires burning in different areas of the pub, and as well as that, the place just… felt warm, what with the glowing candles on every table, the huge number of people inside sheltering from the cold, and the bubbling, lively chatter, composed of hundreds of different conversations all happening at once, that filled the place.

They obtained two Butterbeers, and after navigating the place in search of a table, they soon found that the only available place to sit left was a reasonably large window seat, which thankfully had space for two people. He and Quirrell sat at either end, opposite each other, and whilst Voldemort wasn't overly fond of the Gryffindor-red upholstery of the seat, sitting this close to the window gave them a beautiful view of the falling snow (he didn't like christmas, but he wasn’t blind. He could see when something was pretty, and the falling snow definitely was).

The first sip of his Butterbeer felt like his very soul was being warmed, and he couldn’t help but moan slightly in appreciation. “I’ve always loved this stuff.”

Quirrell nodded in agreement, transfixed by the snow. For a while, they just sat there, together, sipping their butterbeers and watching the snow fall. It was wonderful-relaxing, liberating even- not to feel the same pressure he felt around the Slytherins, to constantly keep talking.

It was Quirrell who finally broke the silence. “So… are you going to tell me why you don’t like christmas?” he asked, smiling. When Voldemort looked away, suddenly becoming very interested in his butterbeer, his smile faded. “Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to…”

“Nah, it’s fine… I’ll tell you.” He was probably going to regret this, but…

“Are you sure?”

Voldemort, embarrassingly, almost blushed at Quirrell’s concern- he’d never really had someone who cared about his feelings to that extent before, and it was really that- Quirrell’s concern- that compelled him to tell Quirrell. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He took a deep breath, and steeled himself against the memories that were sure to come…

“I’m guessing you already know that I always stay at Hogwarts for the holidays?”

Quirrell nodded.

“Well, let me just say first of all that I don’t stay behind to curse people’s rooms, or set up evil charms, like loads of people say I do.” Well, alright, that wasn’t strictly true- he had once cursed a few Hogwarts staircases to disappear as soon as they were stepped on, but that had just been a bit of fun. He’d set up cushioning charms underneath, to protect anyone who fell. But that was beside the point. “I, uh… well… okay, basically, I stay at Hogwarts cause I don’t… exactly… have anywhere else to go.”

Quirrell looked confused. “What do you mean?”

Voldemort’s fingers tightened involuntarily around the handle of his butterbeer mug. “I… before I came to Hogwarts, I lived in an orphanage. My mum died giving birth to me, and my dad was some dickhead who left her when she got pregnant.”

“I’m so sorry.” Quirrell looked shocked, and sad, and Voldemort felt very scared. He’d never told anyone this before, not even Bellatrix and Lucius- though, in fairness, they were Slytherins, so that was probably a good thing. His own Slytherin instincts were compelling him to shut up, stop talking, but some part of him trusted Quirrell, and so he carried on.

“In the orphanage, we never really celebrated Christmas. Well, we had a special meal and stuff but… I don’t know, it’s just… we’d see all these kids who had parents putting up christmas trees, and stockings, and getting presents, and we never did that stuff…”

“Wait- you’ve never gotten a christmas present?” Quirrell’s eyes were wide now.

“Nah.” Voldemort tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace- he really wasn’t happy right now, but he was still going to try and pretend to be. “Christmas, for me, is just kinda a reminder of the fact I don’t have parents. So… yeah. That’s why.” He took a sip of his butterbeer and concentrated on the falling snow outside, deliberately not looking over at Quirrell. He didn’t want to see what he suspected he would find in Quirrell’s expression. He didn’t want to be pitied.

Annoyingly, he felt tears well up in his eyes and hurriedly tried to suppress them. There could be no knowing who might be watching them, and if he was to keep his reputation as the soulless Dark King he needed to stop showing so much emotion- and then that all want out the window as Quirrell suddenly moved to sit next to next to him, put an arm round him, and pulled him close.

His first instinct was to tell Quirrell to get off him right now. If anyone was to see him being comforted like a pathetic crying kid… but no. Fuck it. He wasn’t in the Slytherin common room right now, he was bloody well upset, and he hadn’t really been- for want of a better word- cuddled, for years, if ever. Instead he just settled for a “What are you doing?”

“Trying to make you feel better. I… You looked sad, so I just thought…”

“It’s fine.” In fact, it was better than fine. It was actually really nice to be so close to someone else, to know someone actually cared… if he didn’t have a reputation to uphold, he might have considered making a habit of it. “Thanks.”

Quirrell smiled. “No problem.”

Voldemort relaxed into Quirrell’s touch, and then immediately tensed again. “Quirrell… you won’t spread this around school will you?”

Quirrell looked confused. “Why would I spread it around school? Dude, I’m your friend!”

“My other friends probably would.”

“Then your other so-called friends are assholes.”

“They’re really not once you get to know them.”

“If you say so…” Quirrell did not sound very convinced. Voldemort couldn’t think of any way to reply.

They sat there together for a few moments in silence, watching the snow fall like they had done earlier, when they first sat down. It was nice, but as the silence stretched on, Voldemort began to feel almost… guilty. Quirrell had put his arm around him to make him feel better, and he had done nothing to reciprocate. Normally as a Slytherin he would be rejoicing- he’d got someone to do something nice for him without having to do anything back!- but today, somehow that just didn't feel right to Voldemort. Gathering up what courage he had (he was no Gryffindor), he gingerly put his arm around Quirrell in return.  
He hadn’t thought holding someone and being held would feel any different, but oh, it did. When being held, you were being protected. When holding someone, you were protecting them. Not that Voldemort expected to be attacked in The Three Broomsticks (for Wizard God’s sake, he wasn't that paranoid) but, y’know, it just felt good. Especially when he looked sideways and saw Quirrell smiling at his touch; that felt amazing.

After a while, Voldemort felt like conversation was once again needed. “So, uh… lets talk about something happier now.”

“Like what?” You could actually hear the smile in Quirrell’s voice as he spoke; how was that even possible?

“Uh… interests!” Fuck it- he’d already told Quirrell secrets he’d never told anyone, why not tell him some more? “I’ll go first, if you don't mind?”

Quirrell shook his head to indicate that, indeed, he didn’t mind, and then Voldemort began speaking. “Okay… so- promise you won’t laugh?- okay good, well then, uh… I like the dark arts, obviously, and snakes, and… uh…”

“And?…” Quirrell prompted.

“And… and Zac Efron.”

“Fair enough.”

Wait… what? That was… that was it? What the hell?

“You’re… you’re seriously not going to laugh?”

“Why would I?”

“Well… most people would!”

“Yes, unfortunately, probably. But… I’m not going to. Yeah, he’s not the sort of person I’d expect you to like but why should that matter to me?”

“But… but he’s a muggle actor!”

“Yes, and I’m not a slightly racist Slytherin! It really doesn't matter to me, Voldemort. Really. Besides… I really love the movie Hairspray.”

“Wait… seriously?” Voldemort began to smile. To have found someone who wouldn't only accept his weird obsession, but who (sort of… alright not really, but almost) shared it… could he really be that lucky?

“Yeah.” It was Quirrell’s turn to smile sheepishly. “I’m a complete sucker for a good musical.”

Voldemort grinned… and then realised how rude he’d been being. “Oh wait yeah- we haven't talked about your interests yet!”

“There’s really not that much to tell…”

“Aw c’mon man, I bet there is!”

“Fine… mostly just musicals, books- particularly Jane Austen ones- and flowers.”

  
“Flowers?”

“Yeah, um…” Quirrell blushed, and Voldemort couldn't help but think that that was absolutely adorable. “Well, you know how I have a private room? Well… I’ve sort of got a little flower collection in it; all grown magically of course, herbology’s my favourite subject…”

“That’s seriously cool man.”

Quirrell smiled, and his blush became more intense. “You could come and see it sometime- I mean, only if you want to, obviously, you don’t have to… we could watch a movie or something… if you want?”

“I’d love to.” Voldemort said, and really meant it, his stomach turning to butterflies as Quirrell turned to him and smiled that beautiful, sunny smile…

And then he turned away and finished the last of his butterbeer, prompting Voldemort to also finish his, now cold, drink. He really was becoming partial to that smile.

Finishing his drink made him realise that they’d probably stayed in here far too long, and that they should now leave and go do other things, a thought he voiced to Quirrell a moment later. As they both rose from their seats, Voldemort tried very hard to not concentrate on how much Quirrell removing his arm from around him felt like a caress.

Unfortunately, he failed.

 

* * *

 

They spent the rest of the day wandering around the shops. They did, indeed, buy matching ties (plain black), and they’d looked at loads of other things in a huge number of shops and had even had an impromptu snowball fight (started by Voldemort). Quirrell thought this had possibly been one of the nicest days he’d ever had. Voldemort was completely different from what he had expected; he was kind, and sweet, and sensitive, and obviously had friends who didn't deserve to know him. If he had been a Gryffindor, Quirrell might have contemplated confronting Bellatrix and Lucius… but he was a Ravenclaw. He just didn’t have the courage required.

Instead, he decided to try and make up for it by being the best possible friend to Voldemort that he could be. It was obvious that neither of them had ever had proper best friends so… maybe they could be each other’s?

 

* * *

 

After he had walked Quirrell back to Ravenclaw Tower that evening after dinner, Voldemort walked back to Slytherin alone, smiling all the while. He was still smiling when he entered the common room… and then that all changed the moment he was greeted by Bellatrix and Lucius.

They were sitting in the two chairs closest to to the entrance, clearly waiting for him to come back. As soon as he entered, Bellatrix actually squealed, jumped up, ran over to him and hugged him. “My lord! You did so well!”

Voldemort’s thoughts at that point were still full of Quirrell, and so it took him a moment to process what she meant. “Oh yeah, the plan. Right. Thanks!”

Bellatrix finally let him go, and then just began staring at him, which was almost worse. “We heard all about what happened, my lord! Cuddling in The Three Broomsticks… uh! What genius! And someone else said they saw you having a snowball fight… come, sit down! You must tell us all about it!”

Voldemort felt like he’d had a bucket of ice water thrown over him. His previous joyful mood had completely vanished at her words, and it had been replaced with a horrific mix of guilt, disgust and self loathing. The fact that Bellatrix apparently had people spying on him and Quirrell was one thing, but the idea that anyone could have seen him with Quirrell earlier that day and thought that he was acting, thought that he was capable of that, morally… he wanted to be sick.

It must have shown on his face, because Bellatrix was now looking concerned. “My lord? What’s wrong?”

“Uh…” he needed an excuse. “I’m just really tired, can we… can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“Well… if you’re sure…” Bellatrix began. Voldemort didn't wait for her to finish her sentence before bolting.

Once in his room, Voldemort hurriedly yanked the curtains around his bed shut, quickly cast a silencing charm, and then, without even bothering to change, threw himself down upon his bed.

Today had been so lovely, not only because of what they’d done or because Quirrell was so nice to be around, but because, he realised now, for a few hours he’d been able to live in a world without Bellatrix and Lucius. A world without homophobia. A world where he could just be around Quirrell, not for a stupid, cruel prank, but because he’d chosen to be, and he wouldn't get judged for it. It had been so lovely to just exist like that for a while, but now that the rose tinted spectacles were firmly off and Voldemort could see his future clearly, he hated it. Here was the issue: he liked Quirrell. Really, really liked him. And in exactly a week, he’d have to humiliate him in front of most of the school, and lose him forever; or, alternatively, admit he liked him to most of the school and then lose two friends he’d had since first year AND his reputation. And there was no way to get out of it.

Despair overtaking him, Voldemort grasped one of his green pillows close and began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was that! As always, PLEASE, if you have ANYTHING to say about this fic at all, good or bad, leave a comment! They're what keep me writing guys, seriously. And on that note... *runs off to scribble the next chapter*


	7. How to Be Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long, I've just been so busy. School work sucks :/ But anyway, I have something really exciting to tell you... this fic now has fan art!!!!!!!!!! You can view it on my Tumblr here: http://thatgirlnamedeleanor.tumblr.com/post/130893105925/7animewho-thatgirlnamedeleanor-i-made . Anyway, really hope you all enjoy this chapter :D

_He was walking in a forest, a cold, bleak forest, the air icy, the trees black and devoid of leaves. The path he walked along was paved with rough black stones, rocky and uneven. He could see the way ahead, exactly where it would lead him; only a little way away was a huge black throne situated atop a pile of dead bodies. Their skin was grey and blood-splattered, their eyes wide and staring. They did not frighten him. He had long ago accepted that this would be his path, even embraced it and enjoyed it, welcoming this future of blood and power, of evil and strength. And yet now… he wasn't so sure._

_For leading away from the main, black path, was a different one. A new one. It was almost the opposite of the path he had been walking on thus far: it was a dirt path, the sort one might find along scenic hiking routes in muggle forests. It twisted and meandered playfully, happily. The trees surrounding it were lush, healthy, evergreen, and bright golden sunlight shone down on them, filtering through the leaves to dot spots of light all over the ground. Birdsong and the sounds of woodland animals filled the air, and he could see flowers growing everywhere, complete with insects flying gracefully among them. And at the end of the twisting path was a house. Just a normal house, almost muggle-looking. As he watched, he could see three figures walking around inside- two men in robes and a small child, hugging them both. As he listened, he thought he could hear distant laughter… It was a picture of warmth, of contentment, of joy, of love._

_He looked one way. He looked the other._

_One path led the way that was expected of him. It led to power, yes, but also to murder. It lead to darkness, to cold. The other led the way that no one would have ever expected of him, that he never expected himself- to light, to love, to happiness… maybe even to family. It was so very appealing, and yet… it scared him. It led away from everything he’d ever known, everything he’d ever wanted, and led him to so many things that were completely new to him, that he didn’t even know if he was worthy of…_

_He looked down at his feet, at the two paths leading in different directions, away from where he stood. He had a choice to make, and soon…_

 

* * *

 

Voldemort awoke on Sunday morning with a start, trying desperately to cling on to the dream that was evaporating from his head even as he tried to hold onto it. He had a feeling that it had been… important, somehow. He tried hard to think about what it had been about, but all he could get was a sense of dark, and then light, and then… choice? He shook his head, finally giving up as it disappeared for good. Well, that was fucking annoying.

He reached for his wand where it lay on his bedside table, and cast a Tempus charm. Fifteen minutes till breakfast?! Well shit, he’d better get up. He rose, and irritatingly, the stupid dream thing still lingered at the back of his mind. Though it was ridiculous, he sort of felt as though it had held the key to… discovering something? But that made no sense… He didn't have time for this. He needed to get down to breakfast. He was starving, and also, the thought of seeing Quirrell again really did make him smile. Their Hogsmeade date yesterday had been so wonderful. Smiling at the memory, he dressed reasonably quickly and was soon on his way down to the Great Hall.

 

* * *

 

Quirrell had gotten to the Great Hall quite early that morning, hoping to see Voldemort as soon as he possibly could. A part of him worried that he was becoming too attached too quickly, but he supposed, all things considered, he was allowed- he’d never had a proper friend before and now that he had one he was bloody well going to enjoy it. (And, a tiny voice at the back of his mind said, he might not always be just a friend… but no. He wasn't allowing himself to even think that.)

Voldemort eventually came in, looking rushed, only five minutes before breakfast was served. Quirrell couldn't help but smile. Compared to his stylish, sophisticated look yesterday, Voldemort was a mess. An adorable mess though. At his own thought, Quirrell almost laughed- if someone had told him a few months (hell, a few weeks) ago that he’d one day be thinking of Voldemort as adorable, he would have called them mad… and yet here he was!

Voldemort finally made his way to the Ravenclaw table and sat down, and then he was smiling back, his genuine, happy smile, not his cruel “Dark Lord” smile, and Quirrell took a moment to just let himself be happy. “Hey Voldy!” He said, the words leaving his mouth before he consciously registered what they were.

“Voldy?” Voldemort said, surprise colouring his speech. “You… you gave me a nickname?”

Quirrell blushed. What had his brain even been thinking… “Uh… I guess?” Oh wizard god, how embarrassing! He’d given Voldemort, the Dark Lord, a cutesy little nickname like they were both five. Voldemort must think him such an immature-

“That’s awesome, man!”

Quirrell’s eyes widened. “Wait, really?” It seemed that Voldemort was just overflowing with surprises.

“Yeah! I’ve never had a nickname before! Well, unless you count ‘Dark Lord’, but that’s more of a title really.”

Quirrell grinned with unexpected happiness. “You’re welcome?”

“Now I have to think of one for you! Hmm…”

Was it possible to burst from happiness? Cause that’s what Quirrell felt like was about to happen. He felt like a bubble, a big, yellow, slightly hufflepuffish bubble filled with sunshine and… a bubble that was now slightly deflating. Bellatrix and Lucius were walking towards them.

 

* * *

 

Voldemort felt like hexing his friends. Couldn't they see he was trying to spend some time with Quirrell?! He couldn’t tell them that, of course- unless he used the plan as an excuse- but that was how he felt… Regardless, like the Slytherin he was, he covered up his true feelings, first by forcing his features into a mask of indifference, and then into an only slightly tight-looking smile.

“Hey guys! What are you doing here?”

Luckily, it didn’t look like he’d have to resort to false pleasantries- Bellatrix shot the quickest, most unpleasant smile Voldemort had ever seen (more of a grimace really) at Quirrell before turning to face Voldemort. “Can I have a word with you?”

“Of course, Trixie! What do you want to talk about?”

Bellatrix sighed. “Alone?”

When he made no attempt to move, she almost growled in frustration and then grabbed his arm, yanking him up and pulling him away from the Ravenclaw table. Oh shit. They must know everything. They must know that he actually liked Quirrell as a person, that he was sick of the plan… shit. At the very edge of his vision Voldemort saw Lucius grabbing his bag, and for a few seconds, Quirrell looking very confused, before he was dragged down the length of the table and then out of the Great Hall.

Once in the corridor outside the Great Hall, Bellatrix all but shoved him against the wall and began talking quickly. “I’m so sorry my lord! I know that wasn’t the slickest rescue mission ever…”

Rescue mission?

“…But I don’t think it went too badly, do you, Lucius?’

“No, I thought it went quite well…”

Voldemort thought that he’d never been as confused as he was at that particular moment. “Rescue mis- Trixie, what the fuck are you talking about?!”

She looked at him as though he was an idiot, and in all honesty, he felt like one. “We rescued you!”

When this failed to help him understand, she sighed dramatically. “Fine. So, yesterday, we saw how sad you looked when you came back to the common room and we figured it was because you were forced to spend the whole day with Queer-inus- I don’t blame you for that, by the way. I mean, who would feel good about having to waste their Hogsmeade trip with that little freak, right?” At this, Voldemort wanted to scream that it was them who had made him sad, not Quirrell, never Quirrell… “But anyway- we decided you need a break.”

“And then we also decided that break should be today” Lucius added.

“It’s just, we haven’t seen you in so long my lord! You never sit with us anymore…”

“Wasn’t the whole ‘sitting at Ravenclaw’ thing your idea, Trixie?” Voldemort tried his hardest not to let any of the sadness he felt at being separated from Quirrell seep into his tone of voice or facial expression, and as neither Bellatrix nor Lucius seemed to notice anything amiss, he considered his efforts an overall success.

“Well, yes, but… look, my lord. We miss you! Can’t we just have one day like we used to, and then you can go back to charming that creepy little loser?”

Voldemort felt his fists clench involuntarily with anger at Bellatrix’s insults, but all that happened was that his sadness increased. He couldn't even defend Quirrell… wizard god, this situation was so fucked up!

Actually, on that note, maybe a day with his Slytherin friends was exactly what he needed. A day to relax, to do all the old stuff he and his friends always used to do. He couldn't actually say he’d actively missed them as such, but still. They were his friends. “Fine…” he agreed, only slightly reluctantly.

Bellatrix’s eyes lit up. “Brilliant! Now come on- I need to show you this new charm I’ve invented! It lets me enchant snowballs to only attack certain groups of people, like just first years for example. It stops them accidentally hitting passing teachers!”

“She’s truly a genius, Voldemort.” Lucius added, grinning.

“Come on!” Trixie half-yelled, and then suddenly she was pulling him down the corridor, en route to the lake where he assumed this demonstration would take place, and it was just like old times.

 

* * *

 

Left alone in the Great Hall after Voldemort’s sudden departure, Quirrell quickly discovered something- people stared at him a lot more when Voldemort wasn't there. Having scarcely been separated from Voldemort over the past week (apart from during lessons) he’d never noticed it before, but it was definitely the case. Well, wasn’t that just lovely, he thought as he picked at his food under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes. Wasn’t that just great.

He could deal with it though. And the being separated from Voldemort thing. After all, he’d spent almost every previous Sunday completely alone; why stop now?

He gave up on his food, pushing it away slightly. Eyes following him all the while, he stood up and walked out of the Hall. He needed to water his flowers anyway.

 

* * *

 

Evidently it had snowed again last night, because the grounds of Hogwarts looked like the very epitome of winter. The ground was pure white and shimmering, icicles sparkled from frost covered, leafless trees and the lake, now completely frozen over, gleamed in the morning sunshine. Groups of students were everywhere- having snowball fights, building snow sculptures (some using magic, some not) and sliding around on the lake. One particularly inventive group were having an aerial snowball fight, soaring overhead on brooms and Conjuring snowballs to throw at each other.

“That’s such a cool idea.” Voldemort said to no one in particular.

“What is, my lord?” Bellatrix’s voice was so much… harsher than Quirrell’s, Voldemort thought. Quirrell’s voice was gentle and soft, whilst hers was so much more nasal and angry…

“That snowball-fight-on-brooms thing.”

Bellatrix scoffed. “That?! Ugh, that’s so childish!”

 _And bullying other students for things they can’t help isn’t?_ Voldemort thought to himself. He made a mental note to tell Quirrell about it. If by some miracle Quirrell still wanted to even talk to him after the Yule Ball, they should try it. Oh shit, the Yule Ball… it was on Saturday. Shit. He only had five days to think of a new plan, one that would enable him to keep both his Dark Lord title and Quirrell… Shit…

No. Stop. This was why he was here with Bellatrix and Lucius today- to try and get back to normal. To be who he was before he met Quirrell. To be the Dark Lord again.

Bellatrix had been leading the whole time and now that they were outside she seemed to be looking for something. As Voldemort watched, she scanned the area, eyes narrowed… and then her faced relaxed and she grinned wickedly. “This way!” she exclaimed joyfully, leading them towards a group of tiny first years. Suddenly, inexplicably, Voldemort felt nervous. What if she hurt the first years? They were just kids! The image of his friends bullying Quirrell appeared in his mind and Voldemort, his earlier longing to be the Dark Lord again forgotten, was compelled to stop this, now…

…But he couldn’t. He was no Gryffindor. He didn’t have the courage. So instead he just stayed silent and let her lead the way.

 

* * *

 

Back in his room, Quirrell watered his flowers. And then grew a new canopy of roses over his bed. And then started reading a book, but got bored. It was just so… wrong. He’d thought he had mastered being alone, having had a lot of practice, but apparently one week with Voldemort was enough to make him forget how to be lonely. He had previously thought himself an expert at being lonely.

And as well as being lonely, the was the undeniable anxiety that Voldemort would just forget about him and go back to being the Dark Lord he was when he was with the Slytherins. Because he wasn’t the same around Quirrell. Or, if he did behave the same around both him and the Slytherins, then Quirrell thought “Dark Lord” wasn’t really an accurate description. “Cute, friendly, kind Lord” would be more truthful.

There was no use worrying about it now. He’d see when dinner came.

 

* * *

 

They were hiding behind a snow covered bush, Voldemort’s fingers already numb from having to grasp frozen leaves. Only a few metres ahead of them, the group of first years were building a snowman, and they just seemed so happy that Voldemort was tempted to Stun Bellatrix and Lucius just to prevent what was to come. If Quirrell was here, he thought to himself, he’d go over and help them with their snowman. Quirrell really was so sweet…

“Voldemort!” Bellatrix’s harsh whisper instantly dragged him back to the present.

“What?”

“You haven’t even been listening to me! I’ve been talking for about five minutes straight, explaining how my charm works! Don’t you even care?”

“Of course I do Trixie! Could you um, maybe… explain it again?”

She sighed in apparent frustration, but continued, still whispering lest the first years spot them. “As I was SAYING, it’s basically a variation on the normal snowball charm. All I have to do is do a slightly different wrist movement from the normal charm…” here she demonstrated said wrist movement, “…and then concentrate really hard on who I want the snowballs to attack, so in this case, those first years…”

As Voldemort watched, she cast the spell, concentration written all over her features as she cast. Briefly, her wand glowed blue, and then with a sudden bang, a huge amount of snowballs burst from the tip and immediately began to swarm around the first years. As Voldemort watched, the happy expressions of the kids rapidly turned to horror as they were attacked, the snowballs remaining intact as they viciously hit them over and over again with some force. Next to him, Bellatrix and Lucius were laughing uproariously, and Voldemort just felt sad and numb. In the company of his two best friends, the two people he should be closest to in the world, Voldemort was horrified to discover that he just felt… lonely.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, back in the Great Hall, it was time for dinner and Quirrell was firmly telling himself that he was not worried. He. Was. Not.

With the usual extravagance, the doors burst open and the three Slytherins walked in. Quirrell thought his heart may have stopped, just for a little while, as he watched them move in a pack, a trio… and then it restarted as Voldemort broke away from the other two and came to sit beside him.

“I missed you.” was the first thing Voldemort said and Quirrell thought his heart might burst.

“I missed you too. A lot.” was the only response he could muster. If he’d thought his heart would burst at hearing that Voldemort had apparently missed him, it was nothing to how he felt as he saw Voldemort blush at his words. It was this which gave Quirrell the courage to ask Voldemort what he asked him next.

“Voldemort- so you know you said yesterday you’d like to come see my flowers some time? Well, I was just wondering, would you… would you maybe like to come back to my room and see them tomorrow after dinner? I could show you them and then we could watch a movie or something? I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to, I understand that decreases the time you have with the other Slytherins but I just thought I’d ask…”

“Quirrell, I’d love too.” Wizard god, Voldemort had a lovely smile. Quirrell resolved there and then to make Voldemort happy a lot, just to see that smile.

“So… it’s a date?”

“Definitely.”

 

* * *

 

Voldemort didn't stop to think about the fact that he now felt far closer to Quirrell, after only a week of being friends, than he did to Bellatrix and Lucius, whom he’d known for his whole school life. Nor did he think about the fact that he really didn't want to lose Quirrell’s friendship and yet he still had no plan of how to keep it. He, for once, just let himself be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that didn't suck and that you liked it! As usual, if you have anything at all to say about this fic, please leave a comment, they seriously keep me writing. See you all at the next chapter!!! :D


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